Where the Demons Hide
by LemonSupreme
Summary: AU - Charlie and Bass meet under unusual circumstances. They are each grieving over lost loved ones, and find comfort in each other's arms. Can they ever get past what haunts them so that they can move forward...and maybe heal? Charloe one shot. Warning: Mention of MCD.


**A/N: So this isn't happy lemon. It's a little bit sad/angsty... hopefully still enjoyable. let me know. ;)**

* * *

><p><strong>When the days are cold ** And the cards all fold ** And the saints we see ** Are all made of gold<strong>

**When your dreams all fail ** And the ones we hail ** Are the worst of all ** And the bloods run stale**

**I want to hide the truth ** I want to shelter you ** But with the beast inside ** There's nowhere we can hide**

Part 1: Charlie

Charlie can't take another minute in this awful place. She walks quickly down the sterile corridor, past a woman who calls her name. She doesn't look back. She can't. Charlie leaves the building in a daze, wandering out into the brutal wind of a blustery Chicago winter's night. It is only as the bite of the cold digs into her exposed flesh that she even remembers she came here with a coat. It was the green one…the one he gave her for Christmas two years ago.

She won't go back for it now. She can't go back to that place where he is and also where he isn't.

Instead, she puts her chin down and surges into the cold wind and the stinging snow and she walks for what feels like miles, but in truth it's less than two blocks. When she sees the flickering neon that promises a little of the numbness she so sorely craves, she walks through the door without a second thought.

Inside she is assaulted by the odor of fried onions and sour whiskey. An old Hank Williams tune plays on an ancient juke box in the corner. The lights are dim. Only a handful of customers are here and none of them even glance her way as she moves toward the bar.

Charlie feels relief wash over her as she settles onto a red vinyl bar stool, cracked with age. The bartender was pretty once, but it was long ago. Now she just looks tired and sad. There's a lot of that going around. Charlie asks for Jack Daniels and the sad bartender nods. Charlie nods back as she pushes a stack of bills toward the woman's leathery hand. "Keep em coming." Charlie says. Even to her own ears, Charlie thinks her voice sounds haunted.

Which of course it is.

She drinks the first two within minutes, and then slows down to the occasional sip. Hank Williams has stopped singing so Charlie moves to the colorful juke and presses the dusty browse buttons as she nurses her drink. She stops when she sees the song she wants to play, and with shaky fingers she shoves quarters into the machine.

She's back at her seat when Willie Nelson begins to sing 'You Were Always on my Mind'. Charlie regrets the choice as soon as she hears the first strains of the song. It reminds her of a time she doesn't want to remember and she's kicking herself for even thinking that this was a good choice. She closes her eyes tightly, willing the song to be over. Tears slip from under her lashes, unbidden. She doesn't even notice. There have been a lot of tears lately.

"Elvis did it better." The gravelly voice is so unexpected that at first Charlie thinks she's imagined it, but slowly she turns her head and sees that the barstool beside her is now occupied. She glances at her new drinking companion but doesn't acknowledge his comment. He's wrong of course, but also she's just not in the mood to talk to anyone. Not tonight. She sees that he's attractive… older, but sexy in a tired and scruffy sort of way. She doesn't care that he's attractive, but she notices. Charlie is depressed. She's not dead.

Charlie also sees that his eyes hold a sadness that she knows well…it's one she's been seeing in the mirror every day for the last three years. It doesn't matter that he looks as sad as she feels. Michael Stipe said it best: 'Everybody hurts'. So she continues to drink without saying a word because the fact that they are both sad is irrelevant. She doesn't want to talk.

He doesn't get the hint. "The Pet Shop Boys actually did a great cover of that song as well…" he trails off as he takes a good look at her. "Never mind. You're probably too young to know the Pet Shop Boys."

"Please shut up and let me listen to the song I paid for, which is better than the Elvis version and the Pet Shop Boys versions put together."

She sees out of the corner of her eye that he cracks a smile at this, but he shuts up.

They drink in silence after the song ends. She is feeling warmth seep into her bones as the alcohol takes hold. This is why she came here. She wants to numb the pain, wants to sleep without dreams tonight, wants to forget. She notices that instead of a glass, the talkative guy is drinking his whiskey out of a chipped coffee cup. On the side of the cup is the word 'jarhead'.

"So the marines?" she asks, biting her tongue as soon as the words are out. So much for not talking.

"Please shut up and let me listen to the silence." He says, smirking as he takes a sip from his mug.

She laughs then and the sound is strange and foreign to her ears. She hasn't laughed in months. The way it crawls through her throat almost hurts.

He shifts slightly, facing her a bit. He watches the way she stares into her drink, the way the brief smile has disappeared once again. "Yes, the marines." He says.

"So, you must come here a lot if you have your own cup."

"Is that a pick up line? Do I come here often?"

She looks at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time. They are a startling blue. "I assure you, it's not a pick up line."

He nods, understanding. "You've been visiting someone?" The bar is surrounded by hospital buildings and doctor's offices. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out why she's here.

She closes her eyes. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He says. He won't pressure her.

"So the cup?" she prods again, "This is Cheers and you're Norm?"

"Maybe more like Frazier." He says with a chuckle, "But with better hair."

"So you're a shrink?"

"No." He doesn't expound and she doesn't press. The truth is she doesn't care.

Silence hangs between them again, but now if feels like a comfortable silence and neither speak for a while. Finally, he asks, "What's your name? You seem familiar…"

"Is THAT a pickup line?" she asks dryly.

He shakes his head no, " Just curious."

"Does it matter?" Charlie says, staring at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She looks so tired. Tired and broken. Even the dim light can't hide the pain. She finds his eyes in the mirror.

"Well, I have to call you something." He says thoughtfully – speaking to her reflection. "How about Blue?"

"Because I look sad?"

"Because your eyes remind me of the ocean…but also because you look sad."

Charlie nods slowly, "Fair enough. All right Jarhead, you may call me Blue."

People are leaving the bar and Charlie realizes that it is closing time. She tosses another bill on the counter to cover the tip and stands. Her legs are shaky and she reaches out to grasp the barstool for balance.

Jarhead stands too. He's had as much to drink as she has, but he supports her easily. "Let me get you a cab." He says.

She shakes her head. "My hotel is just a couple blocks away."

"But you're not wearing a coat."

"I don't care. I need the fresh air."

"It's below freezing out there. That's not fresh air, Blue. That's frostbite."

She doesn't say anything, but moves past him toward the door. He catches up with her, shrugging out of his leather jacket and throwing it over her shoulders.

"You need a coat too."

"I'm okay. Layers." He says, pointing to the hooded sweatshirt he wears.

"Fine."

They walk into the wind and Charlie is glad for the coat. Occasionally she catches a waft of his scent. Leather and male. Reaching her hotel, they walk into the lobby together.

"Thanks for walking me back." She says, taking off his coat and handing it over. She doesn't meet his eyes. Instead she watches the way his hands work the zipper on his coat. She notes the narrow hips and long muscled legs. She swallows thickly, suddenly regretting those last few drinks.

"You're welcome." He watches her closely. She seems even sadder than before. He pats her awkwardly on a shoulder and starts to walk away.

He stops when he hears her voice, soft and tentative, "Have you ever made any really bad decisions, Jarhead?"

"I guess so." He says cautiously. "Who hasn't?"

She answers his question with another of her own, "Want to make another one?"

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><p><strong>When you feel my heat ** Look into my eyes ** Its where my demons hide ** Its where my demons hide<strong>

**Dont get too close ** Its dark inside ** Its where my demons hide ** Its where my demons hide**

Part 2: Bass

He has no idea why he agreed, or for that matter, what exactly he's agreed to. He knows his cock is pretty damn sure he's getting laid tonight. His brain isn't on board yet…not totally. It's been a while, and this feels like a pretty dumb way to jump back into the saddle or the sack or whatever. Hell, Blue could be a serial killer. He watches her appraisingly. She doesn't look like a serial killer. She looks sad, and very beautiful. She looks a little lost, but not at all dangerous.

He understands.

He is also sad and lost and not at all dangerous. He has been all of those things for a long time now. Ever since…. No. He doesn't think about that anymore, or not often. Certainly not now. Remembering the losses in his own life still stings and burns like astringent on a gaping wound. That's how he thinks of his heart now – a gaping wound.

They ride in the elevator without speaking or touching. The doors slide open on the ninth floor. She exits without checking to see if he follows, but he does. As they walk silently down the hallway, their footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet below. He watches her walk. Her ass is amazing. His brain is starting to agree with his cock.

He's getting laid tonight.

The girl he now calls 'Blue' slides a key card through the slot in the door numbered 919. She watches for the green light and pushes at the door. She still hasn't looked at him since she asked him to come up. He wonders if she's changed her mind.

She motions toward the mini bar. "Pour me a drink?" and then she disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Bass hangs his coat over the back of a chair. He finds two plastic cups and a small bottle of whiskey and pours. He looks around the room. There's nothing special about it except that it looks like she hasn't been here long. A small overnight bag sits on the desk. It doesn't appear to have been opened.

She emerges and he hands her the drink he'd poured. She tosses it back in a gulp and then looks at him, "Take off your clothes."

"Don't you want to talk or something first?" Bass is suddenly very nervous, running shaky fingers through his unruly curls. He feels rusty and old and very out of practice.

"I don't want to talk at all." She says, pulling her shirt over her head in one fluid motion.

"Oh." His eyes fall to her breasts. They are full and round and encased in a simple pale yellow bra. "Listen, it's been a long time for me…" he takes a step closer, but is still hesitant.

"I hear it's a lot like riding a bike." Blue says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

Bass nods slowly before pulling his hooded sweatshirt off and tossing it onto a chair. She reaches for the snap on her jeans. He steps closer, putting his hands over hers, stopping her from going further. "Slow down, Blue. You got somewhere you got to be?"

She shakes her head no with little jerky movements.

"Then let's take our time, okay? If you change your mind about any of this, that's fine. Just tell me."

"Okay." She exhales slowly, blowing the breath out through parted lips.

Bass pulls her close, his eyes boring into hers as he slides his hands along the bare skin of her back. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Blue lifts her chin and closes her eyes. He smiles softly before gently pressing his lips to hers. The first touches are shy and tentative. Every movement is hesitant and unsure. Though unspoken, they each sense the fragility in the other.

He angles his mouth over hers. One hand still rests on the curve of her spine, while the other slides through her long hair to caress the nape of her neck. She opens her mouth for his tongue and he slides it through her lips, exploring slowly.

Blue uses her fingertips to move underneath the hem of his tee shirt. She strokes the ridges of muscle there, learning his skin. She rubs tiny circles against his lower back and feels his body respond.

He leaves the heat of her mouth to trail light kisses along her chin and down her neck. Bass feels her pulse quicken, as he licks the throbbing point on her throat. Bass nuzzles her neck, inhaling her scent: whiskey, lavender and hospital disinfectant. His heart hurts for her, for the loss that has driven her into a stranger's arms. He knows he can't fix her. She is just as broken as he is, though maybe her edges are sharper, her jagged bits still raw. No, he can't fix her. What he can do is offer her comfort. He can give her a temporary escape. Bass vows to make this night about her pleasure, her release… Tonight, he will tend to her broken pieces and he will help her forget how very sharp they are...

She begins to pull at his shirt in earnest and he steps back, raising his arms so that she can remove the garment from his body. She traces the lines that define his torso and he inhales sharply as she drags a short unpainted nail across his nipple. The flesh puckers and she leans forward, sucking it into her mouth.

While her attention is focused on his chest, he reaches behind her body and unclasps her bra so that he can return the favor. The scrap of yellow falls to the floor and Bass stares. Blue's breasts are exquisite. They are supple, firm and round. He cups them gently with his hands, testing their weight, rubbing his palms teasingly against her tightening nipples. He does not let go, kneading them languidly as he bends to speak softly in her ear. "Bed."

"Bed." She agrees.

This time when she reaches for the snap on her jeans, he doesn't stop her. Instead he mirrors her movements and soon they are both naked. She crawls onto the bed, enticing him with her perfect creamy ass, before turning and settling in the middle of the bed. She watches him as he joins her. Bass is at her side, and his lips seek hers out again. The kisses are deeper now, more intense. His hands wander over her curves. Hers explore his planes.

Bass slides his fingers lower, following the hollow of her belly down to her thatch of coarse hair below. He feels her shiver as he slips his hand between her thighs. She's wet, and he loves the feel of her slick folds. She's writhing beneath his touch when he slides a finger inside. She is so tight. Shit. He closes his eyes, his breathing suddenly more ragged. She's wet but so tight and he doesn't want to hurt her. "You're not ready, Blue. I want to make this good for you. "

"Okay." She says, her voice shaky.

"Do you want me to use my fingers?" he presses deeper into her heat, slowly thrusting in and out. "Or do you want me to use my mouth?" he licks the shell of her ear and feels her shudder.

She shakes her head, "Fingers I think. Just fingers."

He nods in agreement, "If that's what you want." He says as he pulls out the first finger, replacing it with two. "So tight." He says again, his voice reverent.

"Been a long time for me too." She admits, arching closer to his touch.

He continues to slowly fuck her with his fingers, using deep steady strokes. He feels her stretching. "That's good. Relax for me." He sucks at her ear lobe as his thumb begins to rub across her clit. She turns her head to catch his mouth and the kisses soon become heated, a clash of lips, tongue and teeth. She stiffens and cries out when she comes. He smiles against her mouth, still stroking – slowly now – bringing her down gradually.

She falls back into the pillows, her thighs still spread, his fingers still buried inside. "That was just what I needed." She says, eyes closed.

"Glad I could help." He says with a smile, slowly removing his fingers from her heat. He moves to sit at the edge of the bed and reaches for his boxers.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I just thought…" he looks sheepish.

Blue leans back on her elbows, and Bass's eyes are drawn to her perfect tits. "You just thought I was a selfish bitch who would let you go in that condition?" she nods to his cock which is thick with need.

"I am really out of practice with all this. I'm pretty sure the last random hookup I had was ten years ago... Sorry."

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, "No, I'm sorry. Get over here and let's finish what we started?"

Bass grins slowly, "Yeah, okay." And then he crawls over to her and kisses her again.

"I want to touch you." She breathes against his mouth.

"Please do." He says with a chuckle. The laugh catches in his throat as she wraps her hand around his shaft. "Oh fuck." He says, loving the way she is pulling and stroking him. "That feels so good, but…"

"But what?" she asks.

"I want to be inside you….I need to be."

She bites at his lower lip, and pulls him closer, guiding him to her entrance which is still slick and ready.

Bass has been celibate for so long, at first he's worried he'll forget…afraid he'll stumble and do something awkward. She was right though. It is like riding a bike. He slides in slowly, stretching her out as he goes deeper. She's moaning and Bass feels sweat beading on his brow as he concentrates on taking it easy. It's been so long and what he wants to do is pound her senseless, but he reminds himself that this is about her…about what she needs. She doesn't need to be pounded. She needs to be cherished.

So that's what Bass does. He cherishes her. He kisses her face and strokes her flesh. He moves slowly in and out of her heat, soaking up the sounds she's making and the way she writhes under his body. Because he has focused all of his attention on Blue and what she needs, he lasts much longer than he would have expected considering the years that have passed since he last… He changes his train of thought. If he thinks about her now, this will all go wrong. He looks up to find Blue watching him. Her lips are parted, her pupils are blown. He doesn't break eye contact, but reaches down to rub her clit. It doesn't take long and he's feeling her vaginal walls clamping down on his cock like a vice. He groans as her orgasm rocks through her body. He fucks her through it, slow and steady. He pulls out at the last moment, spilling on her thigh.

Bass rolls off and lies at her side, not touching her at all. He closes his eyes tight, trying to remember what he should do next. He really has no idea. Does he ask to stay? Does he excuse himself and leave? Does he ask for her real name?

His thoughts are cut short when he feels her shaking. At first she's crying silently, but soon her body is wracked with sobs. Bass doesn't hesitate. He rolls and pulls her into a hug. It's not a sexual thing. It's a comfort thing. Her heart is breaking and the only thing he knows to do is hold her.

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><p><strong>When the curtains call ** Is the last of all ** When the lights fade out ** All the sinners crawl<strong>

**So they dug your grave ** And the masquerade ** Will come calling out ** At the mess you made**

**Dont want to let you down ** But I am hell bound ** Though this is all for you ** Dont want to hide the truth**

Part 3: Blue & Jarhead

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bass asks. She has finally stopped crying, but she is clinging to him.

"Maybe."

"Well, if you want to, I'm a good listener." He says, stroking her hair.

"My Dad died." She says finally. "Two years ago. Fluke heart attack."

"I'm sorry." He says, knowing in his gut that this is just the beginning of her story.

"Then my brother got sick. Needed a kidney." She pulls his hand to a scar on her flesh. "Gave him one of mine. He still died. That was last year."

Bass just shakes his head. He knows from firsthand experience that 'sorry' is worthless. "And today?" he asks.

"My boyfriend, Jason."

He hadn't expected that. "What happened?"

"Cancer. A year ago he was healthy. He was a gym teacher at the grade school in our neighborhood. One day he was fine, and the next he was complaining of weird pain."

Bass doesn't say anything. He waits. The silence drags out for a while, finally she speaks again, "You know what? I was going to break up with him. I had planned my speech and everything. We'd dated since high school. I was ready to move on. Told him I had something to say. He said he did too and wanted to go first. Told me he had cancer…."

"So you stayed with him?"

"Well, yeah… and at first we thought he was beating it. He was a strong guy, really in shape and the chemo and radiation treatments were helping. We thought they were anyway. Then six months ago, things started to look bad. He was admitted to the hospital and he's been there ever since. Two days ago they moved him to hospice. He died last night right before I came to the bar."

"I could tell something had happened."

"Thanks, by the way." She says quietly, her face buried in his neck.

"For what?"

"For helping me forget for a little while."

"Want to forget some more?"

She kisses him, "Yeah, I'd like that."

Much later, they are both drowsy and Bass is almost asleep when she speaks, "Hey Jarhead, what about you? Who did you lose?"

"Oh Blue, I lost everybody."

When Bass wakes up the next morning, he is alone. He finds a note on her pillow. It says "You'll need to leave by 11. I've already checked out. Thanks for the forgetting. –Blue"

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><p><strong>They say it's what you make ** I say it's up to fate ** It's woven in my soul ** I need to let you go<strong>

Part 4: Bass & Charlie

Charlie doesn't want to be back here. Jason's been dead a month and if she had her way, she'd never step in this hospital again, but her boss has demanded she attend grief counseling and this is the only place that has sessions she can afford. Free ones, that is.

So, she sits in a cold metal folding chair – waiting for it all to start. This is group therapy. They may call it counseling, but Charlie knows therapy when she sees it. She has her fair share after Danny died. So, she sits and she waits. An enormous woman in a flowery muumuu sits on one side of her and a skinny skate boarder type – he might be eighteen, but just barely – sits on her right. Tony Hawk (as she will always think of him even if she ever does learn his real name) leans in close. "Your first time?" he asks.

She nods, "First time here."

"You're gonna like the counselor. He's good people." Tony says. "Knows what the fuck he's talking about."

"How so?" Charlie asks. The truth is that she's bored and doesn't even care. She is just being polite.

Tony frowns, "Well, we're here to talk about grief, right? Well this guy…he knows grief. Lost his parents and sisters when he was young. Car accident with a drunk driver. Later he was in Iraq and was the only one of his scouting party to survive an ambush. He got back, met a girl and fell in love. They got married and had a kid. Wife and baby died in another damn car accident. You can't make this shit up. He lost it all. He lost everything."

No. It can't be. It can't be him.

Charlie closes her eyes and shakes her head. She suddenly without a doubt knows who the counselor will be. Even though she never knew his real name, everything fits…the sad eyes, the jarhead mug, how he'd told her he'd been alone for a long time and of course before they drifted off to sleep when he said he'd lost everybody. She takes a shaky breath, and looks at her shoes. There are a lot of people here. Maybe he won't notice her.

She isn't going to look. When she hears him walk in, she is determined to keep her gaze low. But she hears the friendly hellos being called out from all around her and she can't help herself. These people love their counselor. She has to see if she was right.

She was right.

Jarhead is here. Instead of the hoodie, he's wearing a wool cardigan over a simple tee shirt. He has on jeans and scuffed up boots. He still looks scruffy. He's still sexy as hell. She tries to look away. She can't.

He's grinning at something an elderly man is saying. He throws his head back to laugh and as he does, his eyes scan the room. The laughter stops and the smile fades. His eyes lock on hers. "Blue?" He says, surprise clear on his features.

Charlie stands, grabs her purse and runs. Behind her she can hear Tony Hawk asking what the hell just happened. She runs until she gets to her car and she rests her forehead against the steering wheel and she cries. She cries for a long time. Then she goes home.

Home is a tiny apartment above a bakery in a less than fantastic Chicago neighborhood. It's near campus, and although it's a bit of a hell hole, she can afford it without groveling to her mother for money. In her book, that makes it perfect. She gets by with a waitress job and student loans. It's not an exciting or glamourous life, but it's hers.

Charlie is finally calm after the unsettling reunion with her one-night-stand. She has just settled down with a book and a diet coke when there's a knock on the door. She almost doesn't answer it. Nobody she knows would ever visit her here. Probably Jehovah's Witnesses again. It's that thought that propels her out of her chair. She feels bad for those guys. She isn't buying what they're selling, but she still makes an effort to be nice. She opens the door with a flourish. It's not Jehovah's Witnesses though.

"Jarhead." She says, her eyes wide.

"You can call me Bass." He says. He looks nervous and flustered. He's running his hand across his jaw, and up through his hair. "I think it's time we were on a first name basis, don't you?"

She stands aside as he walks past. She closes the door and follows him into her living room. He looks around, stopping to stand before a wall of pictures hanging on her wall.

"How did you find me?" she asks.

"I broke like ten federal privacy laws and looked up your address in hospital records."

"Well, allright then." Charlie sits back down on her chair, pulling her knees up tight under her chin.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I was willing to break ten federal laws to find you?"

"No." she shakes her head. She feels so tired suddenly. "But you're going to tell me anyway. So go on."

"After that…well, you know…"

"After we slept together?" she says helpfully.

"Yeah, after that, I just kept thinking about you. There was something about you that felt familiar."

"We did get to know each other pretty well." Charlie smirks.

"Sarcasm a coping mechanism you use often?" he asks frowning.

"Thought you said you weren't a shrink, Frazier?"

"I'm not a shrink. I'm a social worker. Big difference." He stares at the wall of photos again. "Your name is Charlotte Matheson." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, you said you found my records."

"I'm sorry. This is really difficult for me."

"What? If it was so difficult, why are you here?"

"No. I mean you're a Matheson."

"Yeah, you've mentioned it already."

"I know why you seemed familiar. Even in that bar there was something about you that drew me in. I should have known when you picked that damn song. Willie fucking Nelson. Only a Matheson would think his version was better than Elvis'."

Charlie stands slowly, walking toward him. "I don't understand."

Bass points to a family portrait hanging on her wall. "Miles Matheson. He was my best friend. We were on our third tour and we were ambushed. Miles died. Everybody died. I was the only one left. I came back with injuries. Honorable fucking discharge and all that bullshit. All I wanted was my damn friend back. I was drunk off my ass, but I went to the funeral. You were there. You were a kid, but you were there. I remember those big blue eyes. Even then, your eyes were so sad…"

"I was twelve." Charlie says in a whisper, remembering the soldier who had staggered into her uncle's service. She remembers how scandalized her Mom had been. She remembers crying because Uncle Miles wouldn't be bringing her any more presents or sending her any more postcards.

He sits down on the sofa, holding his head in his hands. "When you showed up in my counseling session, I knew I had to figure out where I knew you from. You are beautiful and sexy, but those weren't the reasons I couldn't get you out of my head. It was something else. As soon as I saw your name, I knew. It all clicked into place."

"Does it matter? Any of it? So there was a person we both lost… a person we both miss… How does that really matter?"

"I guess…" Bass shakes his head. His eyes are wet, "I guess I thought we could be friends – you and I. I haven't had a friend in a long time. Clearly I'm delusional."

Charlie doesn't know what to say, so of course she says the wrong thing, "So what you and I had that night reminds you of my Uncle Miles? What the hell kind of friendship did you guys have?"

Bass closes down. She watches as the emotion she'd seen so clearly just moments before disappears behind a cool façade. "Miles was my friend and that was all. I'm sorry if my thinking that you and I could maybe be friends too is crazy. We have a lot in common, you know. I guess I thought we could maybe help each other deal with all the shit hands that life has dealt us. Maybe it was a bad idea. I don't even know any more. I know that I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of sitting in that hell hole bar every night by myself. I'm not looking for some great romance. I gave up on that a long time ago when I buried my wife. I just want someone to talk to... someone who maybe understands me." He stands then and heads toward the door. "Call the hospital. Ask for a different session. A friend of mine runs another one that's really good. Her name is Duncan. You'll like her."

"Okay." Charlie says. She knows she should apologize but his whole visit has proved to be a lot to take in. She needs to think. She watches the door close and presses her forehead to its cool surface after she hears the latch click.

The sound is muffled, but she hears him say "Goodnight Charlotte."

"It's Charlie." She whispers, knowing he can't hear. "My friends call me Charlie."

* * *

><p><strong>Your eyes, they shine so bright ** I want to save their light ** I can't escape this now ** Unless you show me how<strong>

Part 5: You're Always On My Mind

Charlie feels like an idiot, but it's not the first time that she's felt that way so who cares? She walks into the place and the smell of fried onions and sour whiskey floods her nostrils. Nothing has changed since the other time she'd been here. She heads for the bar. It's the same waitress as before, and this time she actually smiles at Charlie. "Jack Daniels, right? Keep em coming?"

Charlie smiles and nods. The smiles are a little easier to dole out lately. They feel less forced. It's been three months since Bass showed up at her door. Four months since Jason died. She's had time to think. She took Bass's advice and has been joining Duncan's group. Bass was right. Charlie likes her and the sessions are helping.

The bartender is back with her drink. "What's this?" Charlie asks, nodding to the coffee mug filled with whiskey that sits before her.

"He gave it to me for you a couple months ago. Said he figured you'd be in eventually. He was right. He usually is."

Charlie looks at the cup in her hands. It is a simple blue mug. No writing, but then she doesn't need writing to know he picked it out for her. She understands. He knew she'd come around. Smiling, she takes a sip and lets the whiskey warm her from the inside out.

Charlie's heartbeat jumps when coins drop in the juke box behind her and she smiles when she hears Elvis begin to sing. As the music swells, she glances over her shoulder, "You know, Willie Nelson did it better."

**END**

* * *

><p><strong>AN – This fic is dedicated to Ice and Al and WildIrish and Driver and MLReeve – the fabulous ladies of Charloe book club who I was chatting with earlier this week and I had mentioned this fic was in progress. Hope you found some enjoyment in it even though it's a tad darker than my usual stories.**

**Giving credit where its due: All lyrics and the title of the story itself from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.**

**P.S. Willie Nelson DID do it better. **

**Leave a comment if you'd be so kind.**


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